


Freed, but for what?

by Closeted_Bookworm



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:28:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27371953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Closeted_Bookworm/pseuds/Closeted_Bookworm
Summary: A very angsty post-bio-bomb apocalypse AU that hurt my heart a disproportionately large amount for 2000 wordsI promise it's really interesting, it's just also very sad T-T
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Dave | Technoblade & Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 21
Kudos: 65





	Freed, but for what?

**Author's Note:**

> Trying my hand at vignettes, we'll see how it goes. I'm pretty sure this will hurt you. It hurt me. But it's good hurt.

Prologue

The world was in ruins.

Not in the traditional sense, but ruined nonetheless. Buildings still stood, skyscrapers reaching desperately for the heavens, suburbs sprawling as far as the eye could see, tiny farm houses still standing on fragile foundations. But it was deserted, the former residents wiped from the earth.

There were no living things anywhere. Parks were left barren and empty, forests disappeared, their inhabitants nowhere to be found, and fields that had rustled in the wind now had no protection from the gusts that swept across them. Even window boxes were devoid of the tender blossoms that once let the dusty world know that it was spring. Insects no longer buzzed lazily around gardens, and dogs did not bark at passerby. 

And yet, even with a complete lack of life, the air was still filled with noise. Abandoned cities echoed with activity, automated production rolling on as normal, the products piling up at delivery points. Animated advertisements boomed their slogans for an absent audience, bright neon reflected in the glass of darkened windows.

Small shapes roamed deserted dwellings, whirring and clicking. Most wandered aimlessly, purposes nullified, but others poked through places previously off-limits to them, gathering new data on their surroundings. 

Only robots roamed the remnants of the destroyed society.

One: Help

“Dream” rolled down the asphalt of a small residential road, scanners humming as his cameras swept the street before him. He had been travelling for a long time, ever since his digital fence had been deactivated. He was looking for his companion, “Grandma.” According to his calendar, it had been precisely 37.84 days since she removed his boundaries.

He had not found any person that he could request assistance from, and the treads on his tires were in dire need of maintenance. He was intended for indoor use only, and the rough terrain was more difficult to navigate than tile or hardwood. His solar battery kept him operational, but he must find a way to replace his parts soon or he would not stay that way. 

He also must find “Grandma.” She needed care. He was her companion, he was responsible for her well-being. He decided to set his destination to the distant city, where he knew there were numerous repair shops and human help centers where he could inquire about his companion.

Every morning at eight o’clock, his alarm rang out down the road, his speakers vibrating with the absurdly high volume. It was to let the little robot know he must administer his companion’s medication. He kept the level below what would damage her hearing, per his programming, but she wanted it as loud as possible. The robot had no way of turning it off. Once during his trek the loud noise had attracted attention from another robot. “Dream” communicated a polite “Hello” to him, which the other returned, but he was restrained by his digital fences and could not leave his yard. 

“Do you know where I may obtain assistance?” he asked the other robot.

“No. My companion is missing and I am waiting for his return.”

“My companion is also missing. I am searching for her so I may administer her medication. Do you have spare tires? Mine are in need of replacement.”

“I have one set. Would they provide assistance to you? They are of no use to me because I cannot leave my yard.”

“That would be much appreciated. Will you show me their location?”

“Follow me.”

“Dream” carefully replaced his tires with the help of the other robot, whose designation was “George.” He expressed his gratitude, tires now fully functional. He resumed his journey, rolling slowly but steadily down the road. 

The city was many days away, but the robot had no need for sleep. He travelled on through the night, set on reaching his destination and assisting his companion. She needed her medication, and it was the robot’s responsibility to get it to her.

Two: Building

Humans hadn’t worked in construction for over a decade. It was completely automated. Building plans were designed and approved by living people, then sent to join a queue of blueprints waiting to be reproduced in steel and glass. Construction robots were assigned a blueprint and a site to work on, and buildings went up practically on their own. Each robot was designed to carry out a specific task, and they worked together as a cohesive unit to complete projects faster than any human team ever could.

When the world ended, the computers didn’t. Hard drives weren’t wiped, plans were still assigned, and the projects weren’t cancelled. So the teams kept going. As long as they had resources, they would build until they ran out of things to build. And there were a lot of things to build.

It was eerie. The city was moving on after the disaster, leaving the memories of its citizens behind it. A new skyscraper slowly pushed towards the clouds, robots swarming over its surface like ants as massive cranes hoisted materials skywards. 

There was no reason for it to exist. It would never be inhabited, businesses would never open, elevators would never be called. But the construction teams didn’t know that. So the skyscraper went up, a massive monolith rising above the clouds of dust that rolled across the barren earth. It was a testament to a new age, one without human presence, one where nothing truly lived, one where things only moved on from what had been. 

Wood was the first thing to run out. There were no trees left to cut down. The supplies in storage were limited because it was a regulated resource. So the teams used wood until they had no wood left, and then they stopped. They could not complete projects if there was no materials to complete them with. 

Metals took longer. Many aspects of the mining and refinement process were automated, so resources kept coming in. But eventually things broke down, and more projects stalled. So teams had to stop working. Half a dozen lonely, unfinished office buildings adorned the horizon, buildings that had been destined to fail since the foundations were laid. 

The last team finally ground to a halt on a lovely spring day. They had been building a school. It was almost finished. It was a quaint little red-brick structure, two stories high, two dozen empty classrooms inside. A small playground stood in front of it, with a bright yellow plastic slide and a swing set. The cheerful sunshine seemed to mock its uselessness. These swings would never carry a laughing child. These classrooms would never be used. Nothing would be learned in this building. Nothing could even be remembered here. It had never seen a child run through its halls, or fib about homework, or make a real friend for the first time. It was just an empty shell. 

It would have been named after its first teacher, the one who campaigned relentlessly for its creation. The Halo School for the Deaf. He would never be able to realize his dream.

Three: Work

Sapnap was frustrated. As close as a robot could get to frustrated. He knew he had no emotions, but he was stuck in his charging dock. No human had come to let him out as they usually did when he powered back on. And that was preventing him from carrying out his protocols.

The humanoid robot had no internal clock, only a battery, but he had been inside his dock for the equivalent of sixty four charging cycles and he was not fulfilling his purpose. He needed to go to work on the assembly line. He could hear the clank and clamor of the line in the next room, and the quiet buzzing of the other androids in their sealed charging ports. He knew the bots currently working on the line must have run out of power a long time ago, which meant the assembly line was not producing the required amount of products. The staff was supposed to switch out the robots when their battery got below fifteen percent, but no one had come. 

Factory androids were programmed with a need to work. It was not necessarily an emotion, but they were designed to be fast, efficient, and motivated workers, and consequently it was debilitating for them to be stuck like this, unable to help while the assembly line shuddered to a halt after many days of neglect.

Sapnap needed to get to the line. He needed to work. His circuits whirred loudly. He was programmed to never let anything distract him while he was working. He was hyper focused on his task and his need to return to it. The room containing the assembly line had gone silent several cycles ago, but he could hear the loud buzzing of his fellow androids in the rows on either side of him. Yet his programming left him with no options. He could not leave his charging dock until someone let him out.

He needed to work. He _needed it._ He must fulfill his purpose. He must. The work was not getting done. The line had ground to a halt. The need to work was overwhelming. He was fully charged. He was ready. But they did not come. He could not work. He could only spin his gears like a car stuck in a snow drift until he wore himself down. Charge, run down, charge, run down, over and over. He was stuck. 

So he was frustrated.

Four: Play

Tommy had no one to play with. He walked in aimless circles around the playroom, running his silicone fingers along the stripes in the wallpaper. He was confined to this room, waiting for Wilbur or Tubbo to come play with him. He could play many things. Wilbur loved playing checkers and Tubbo adored hide and seek, and thus those were Tommy’s favorites.

But no one had come to play with him in a very long time. The house was silent around him. The usual clatter from Phil cooking in the kitchen had vanished, and he had not heard the noises of Techno watching a football game from the den below either. He had not listened to the children running up and down the stairs in over a month. Tommy did not know what was wrong. He did not know what to do if no one wanted to play with him anymore.

The playroom was his entire existence. The children spent most of their time with him. He played dress-up and pretend, he finger-painted and colored, he danced and sang. But he also sewed up ripped stuffed animals, kissed boo-boos better, and got things down from high shelves. Tubbo called him his big brother.

He knew this was not true. He was not biologically related to anyone in the house. He was a body of plastic and metal, purchased and programmed to aid in the rearing of children. Yes, he had been given the shape of a young boy, he had been named and assigned pronouns, and he performed functions similar to those a big brother would perform, but still he was not a family member.

Wilbur knew this. He was older than Tubbo, and knew that Tommy could not form emotional connections. Wilbur was not attached to him like his brother was, though he still liked to play with him.

But Tubbo truly loved him. As irrational as the android found it, the little boy loved the robot who lived in their playroom. He told Tommy all his little secrets, like his stash of candy behind the couch, or how he had petted a stray dog even though Techno told him not to, or how he’d hidden his brother’s shoes under his bed. He gave Tommy hugs and offered him snacks, even though he knew the robot could not eat. And he told him “I love you.”

Tommy was programmed to accept the declaration, and he did it with a wide smile, but he could not reciprocate. He could not love the young boy who chased him gleefully around the playroom, shrieking with joy, who painted a beautiful portrait of the two of them together, who was more likely to confide in him than his father. Tubbo had so much love to give, and he gave it freely and easily. Tommy absorbed it all, but he could never provide anything in return. Not emotionally, at least. All he could do was be the best playmate he could be. 

He trailed his fingers over the checkerboard, the glossy surface smooth against his sensors. He paused in front of the closet, Tubbo’s favorite hiding spot. Dropping to his knees, he crawled inside, nestling in among the rustling fabric of the costumes hanging there. But there was no game of hide-and-seek, not with no one to find him. Tommy softly powered down, motors slowing and whispering to a halt. He would wait for them to want to play again. It was his purpose, after all.

Epilogue

The world was in ruins.

Someday nature would deem the earth fit for life again. Green would poke up through the browns and grays, reminding the sky it was supposed to be blue. The land would regenerate itself, clear the filth from its surface. Maybe one day intelligent life would return, but that would take a long time. Longer than any machine could last. 

Tires would be replaced over and over, until there were none left.

Schoolhouses would crumble under the weight of hundreds of years.

Gears and circuits would eventually break, worn down from an eternity of repetition.

And some robots would never be powered back on.

Everything would be left behind, the world finally quiet. Until life woke once again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading guys, I'd love it if you could leave a comment! Join me in my puddle of emotions from writing this. 
> 
> If you need something fluffy to recover, may I recommend the one shot series ["Ok maybe ghosts exist"](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1983292) by itisjosh. My favorite is ["Share your ghosts with your friends"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27172036).
> 
> P.S. I swear the next chapter of Scented Smoke from the Dead is coming guys, probably in the next two days :)


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